Banneker could imagine one of
these females straying into Mr. Gaines's editorial ken, and that
gentleman's bland greeting as to his own sprightly second maid arrayed
and perfumed, unexpectedly encountered at a charity bazar. Too rarefied
for Banneker's healthy and virile young tastes, the atmosphere in which
The New Era lived and moved and had its consistently successful
editorial being! He preferred a freer air to the mild scents of lavender
and rose-ash, even though it might blow roughly at times. Nevertheless,
that which was fine and fastidious in his mind recognized and admired
the restraint, the dignity, the high and honorably maintained standards
of the monthly. It had distinction. It stood apart from and consciously
above the reading mob. In some respects it was the antithesis of that
success for which Park Row strove and sweated.
Banneker felt that he, too, could claim a place on those heights. Yes;
he liked his story. He thought that Mr. Gaines would like it. Having
mailed it, he went to Katie's to dinner. There he found Russell Edmonds
discussing his absurdly insufficient pipe with his customary air of
careworn watchfulness lest it go out and leave him forlorn and unsolaced
in a harsh world. The veteran turned upon the newcomer a grim twinkle.
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